I don't know what (if anything) your hometown newspaper has had
to say about this, but my hometown newspaper -- the Wichita
Eagle, as allergic to news as any in the country -- devoted its
entire front page plus five more on Monday, with front page
pieces and additional pages yesterday and today, to a report
published in Seattle on Sunday that Boeing is planning on
selling off its Wichita plant. Boeing directly employs over
12,000 workers in Wichita, about 5% of the total workforce,
and probably accounts for about 20% of the economy. The bulk
of the plant was actually built by the US government in the
early '40s, and was central to America's manufacture of bomber
aircraft (B-17, B-29, B-47, B-52) during and after WWII. As I
recall, Boeing had as many as 40,000 employees in Wichita in
the early '50s, and as recently as early 2001 had close to
18,000. My father worked there 38 years before he retired.
My brother worked there 24 years before he was laid off late
last year. Wichita has manufacturing plants of three other
general aviation companies (originally Cessna, Beech, and
Lear Jet; now Lytton, Raytheon, and Bombardier), and has
since the early '30s claimed to be the Air Capital of the
World. There are also hundreds of small aviation-dependent
companies, and Airbus even has recently opened an engineering
group here to work on wing design. Boeing is also attached to
McConnell Air Force Base, which is the home of those KC-135
tankers that have suddenly become obsolete -- the mod work
that has kept those tankers as well as the even older B-52s
flying all these years has all been done in Wichita. It is
also important to realize that Boeing has not only provided
a lot of jobs to Wichita, it has (at least since the early
'50s) paid significantly higher wages that any of the other
aircraft plants -- the main reason being that the IAMAW
contract has always been negotiated nationwide (i.e., for a
long time centered on Seattle), whereas the other companies
are local to ("right to work") Kansas. Selling the plant
here may not mean that all of the jobs would vanish, but
it is certain to mean that wages will be slashed here --
just look at Boeing's sale of their Spokane plant to see
how this works. (Of course, folks in Wichita still remember
last year, when Bombardier threatened to close the Lear Jet
plant here unless they got major givebacks from the union,
which they got.) Wichita has lost well over 10,000 aircraft
jobs since you-know-when.

I hope someone tries to straighten out this whole story:
from this town this is just the point where a whole, vast,
sordid story hits home. It's interesting to see Kansas
politicians who have obviously been in Boeing's pocket
for years turn absolutely livid. (Pat Roberts also had
David Kay's latest findings to deal with on Monday, so
he had an especially bad day.) The local state politicos
who pushed through a $500M bond issue for Boeing's 7E7
auction were all but speechless. (It turns out that KS
has underwritten over $1B in bonds for Boeing over the
years.) Boeing's bid to decertify the SPEEA office worker
group here may also go up in smoke. (Wichita is the most
thoroughly unionized plant in Boeing's empire, although
it's scary to think about the conditions that led so many
engineers and office workers to vote in unions.) Boeing
has never been so completely dependent on its political
connections to make its business viable, and this threat
is very close to blowing up.

It's tempting to look at the company as an extraordinary
case of mismanagement due to incredible greed, and of
course you hardly have to look beyond Phil Condit's bank
account to find evidence. (Although my contacts all tell
me that Harry Stonecipher has been the real evil behind
the scenes, and now he's Condit's successor.) But anywhere
you look these days there's bad news for Boeing, and they
look to me like they're headed straight for Chapter 11.
They've managed to lose their market lead in commercial
aircraft to Airbus, despite the fact that the dollar has
lost 40-50% of its value against the euro, and the 7E7
announcement gives even their best customers reason to
hold back (as if their business wasn't reason enough).
They've bungled almost everything they've managed to
get their hands on in military and space work. They're
deep on hock to Japan and China -- when they started
shipping work overseas they explained that it's okay
because the only thing they have to keep control of is
the wing development, but look who's doing the wings
for the 7E7. They used to be America's biggest exporter;
even if they still are I wonder for how long. Some of
these problems are endemic to the industry, such as the
practice of bundling orders with "set backs". (E.g., JAL
buys Boeing planes on condition that Boeing do some of
the production in Japan.) Some are just textbook stupid.
(E.g., WalMart can get away with being anti-union because
they don't already have unions that they have to work
with.) Some is just a reflection of the rot in the US
political system, which Boeing has contributed to as
much as any company around. (China's "most favored"
trade status was largely secured by Boeing lobbyists.
Tack that onto Boeing's "trade surplus" and check for
a negative sign.)

I could go on, but I haven't researched this, and I don't
want to write the piece. Just want to vent. But one thing
is sure: this stinks, and it ain't gonna go away. Keep an
eye open (or at least a nostril).

Postscript [2004-02-23]: Engelhardt wrote back and urged me to get
this published somewhere. He offered to forward it to someone he knows
at Common Dreams (I think it was), but nothing ever came of that.

Music: Initial count 8815 rated (+30), 941 unrated (+8). The increase in
records rated comes more from digging through old lists and racking my
memory than from new listening. (This is described in a previous entry,
and I'm far from done.) New listening has been hampered by a bout of
something flu-like, which kept me in bed, away from computer, for three
days or so. As I write this, a day late, I'm still beat, and I'm pretty
confused on where I stand on any of this.

The Kinks: Well Respected Kinks (1964-65 [2001], BMG
Special Products). Thin (10-track) compilation of early Pye material,
leading off with "A Well Respected Man" and "Where Have All the Good
Times Gone, with "All Day and All of the Night" and "You Really Got
Me" on the backstretch. This dupes five of Reprise's 1966 10-song
Greatest Hits, significantly missing "Dedicated Follower of
Fashion." This dupes six of Rhino's 1989 18-song Greatest Hits,
Vol. 1 too, also missing "I'm Not Like Everybody Else." Still,
it all seems top drawer until "Don't You Fret" comes along. B+

New Orleans Party Classics (1955-91 [1992], Rhino).
I've had this CD for quite a while, but it managed to slip through
the list system. I can see where one would be tempted to ignore it:
although almost everything here is just fine -- some party classics,
even, but some not quite -- it doesn't satisfy as wel as compilations
that make more conceptual sense, or that draw on more specific sets
of recordings. Or maybe this just leans on the Meters a bit too much?
B+

Betty Roché: Take the "A" Train (1956 [1994],
Bethlehem). She is best known for having sung with Duke Ellington,
and the title cut was her showpiece there -- although the words
have always seemed like a quaint and rather forced afterthought
to Billy Strayhorn's amazing melody. She is fond of scat, and has a
bebop feel -- "I Just Got a Message, Baby" sounds like exceptionally
inspired vocalese, and is probably the best thing here. Her singing
has a slightly odd feel to it, like she's overly careful to make
sure she enunciates clearly. The band includes fine performances
by Conte Candoli on trumpet and Eddie Costa on vibes -- indeed,
this is quite a showcase for Costa. B+

The Shins: Chutes Too Narrow (2003, Sub Pop).
Second album (not counting some EPs going back to 1999), they've
been picking up some favorable press, including a #2 placing in
amazon.com's year-end list. I resisted them at $14.98, but when
Best Buy dropped the price to $8.99, I bit. They're out of the
alt world of music economics, but harmonically fit in the Beatles'
wake, and they rock a bit harder than most other Beatles-influenced
groups (like the Beatles did). That makes them a fit fancy for my
taste, but they're good enough at it that I can imagine lots of
people thinking this is some sort of masterpiece. After all, it
is. A-

Wayne Shorter: The All Seeing Eye (1965 [1994],
Blue Note). This was cut in the middle of a hot stretch of albums
for Shorter, following Speak No Evil (1964) and preceding
Adam's Apple (1966), while Shorter was on top of the world
with the Miles Davis Quintet. Herbie Hancock and Ron Carter are
along for the ride, with Joe Chambers on drums, and Freddie Hubbard
as Miles, but two extra horns are present: volatile James Spaulding
on alto, and Grachan Moncur III on trombone. (Plus Alan Shorter for
the final cut.) Moreover, it's clear from the titles that the program
is meant to be heavy: Shorter's originals are called, "The All Seeing
Eye," "Geneis," "Chaos," and "Face of the Deep." (Wayne's little
brother penned the finale, the slightly mischievous "Mephistopheles.")
This comes off as a composer's album, the rhythm spare, the horns
carefully deployed. B+

Art Tatum: The Complete Pablo Group Masterpieces (1954-56,
Pablo, 6CD). These were originally released in eight volumes -- three of
which I own and have dealt with before. (Volume 8, with Ben Webster, is
the prize of what I've heard.) I was thinking that having the "Complete"
series I'd be able to deal with the missing volumes as well, but that's
going to take some jiggering, since the previous eight discs have been
squeezed down to six here. (Big LP-sized box, with two double-wide jewel
cases with three CDs in each, plus an LP-format booklet.) Here's a mapping
from the eight CDs to the six discs here:

Disc 1: Cuts 1-14 (Vol. 1: Benny Carter, Louis Bellson). Note that this
session was originally released on two separate LPs, then combined on a
single CD; the original set had 9 LPs, then 8 CDs.

I've written more on each of these as they break out. The session with
Webster is extraordinary, a simply lovely meeting. The DeFranco is a
very close runner-up, with the Roy Eldridge and Benny Carter sessions
close behind. Tatum always preferred to play on his own, which may be
why the trio seems to showcase his most vibrant piano, but the real
value of these sessions is that they show that he can play in group
contexts, and modulate his playing accordingly. The net effect is, I
think, much easier to grapple with than his solo work, which like all
solo piano sounds thin even though he gussies it up so extraordinarily.
(The Penguin Guide, by the way, downrates the Eldridge session,
describing it as two virtuosos of different temperaments uncomfortable
in the same room. I suspect that our differences here have to do with
our relative interests in the two virtuosos -- my own affection leans
strongly toward Eldridge.) None of this should be taken as disparaging
Hampton, who does fine work here. It just seems that the horns are
better able to keep up with Tatum. A-

Art Tatum: The Tatum Group Masterpieces, Vol. 3 (1955,
Pablo). With Lionel Hampton and Buddy Rich. The first few cuts here start
off with Hampton and Tatum at the races -- Hamp has the faster horse, but
Tatum's the supreme jockey. Rich just keeps score, although he does get
to lead a bit on "How High the Moon." This whole session didn't fit on
one CD, so it's continued on Vol. 4. A-

Art Tatum: The Tatum Group Masterpieces, Vol. 4 (1955,
Pablo). With Lionel Hampton and Buddy Rich. Starts with "This Can't Be
Love" -- not quite as fast as the start on its predecessor, but perky
enough. The following cuts, though, do slow down quite a bit, with
"Lover Man" particularly lovely. But this tends to lighten out over
the long haul. B+

Art Tatum: The Tatum Group Masterpieces, Vol. 5 (1955,
Pablo). With Harry "Sweets" Edison, Lionel Hampton, Barney Kessel, Red
Callender, and Buddy Rich. This session seems a little on the busy side,
although it's hard to fault Sweets on anything he does here -- he's all
aces. So I guess that means Hampton and Kessel are the spare wheels,
even though they both do nice work in turn. The net effect is that Tatum
doesn't get much space. B+

Art Tatum: The Tatum Group Masterpieces, Vol. 6 (1956,
Pablo). With Red Callender and Jo Jones. This starts with 7:10 of "Just
One of Those Things" -- a pure Tatum showcase. "More Than You Know" is
even better: he plays so many notes for each one of Calender's that the
whole surface shimmers. "If" is taken rather leisurely, but with trademark
fillips and filligree. The rest is less eventful, but showcases a lot of
fancy tinkling. A-

Tanya Tucker: The Upper 48 Hits (1972-97 [2002],
Raven, 2CD). This is obviously too much, but I'm duly impressed that
they can provide Billboard chart positions for all 48, and that most
are in the single digits. The first song here that I really like is
the 14th on disc 1, something called "It's a Cowboy Lovin' Night."
The follow-up, "Dancing the Night Away," is pretty good too. The
difference between those two and the songs that come before is a
matter of production technique: these flow smoothly, whereas the
earlier ones tend to sound junked up. "Delta Dawn" was junked up
too, in a manner that made it a catchy breakthrough hit, but doesn't
make it something you'd voluntarily put on yourself. Her take on
David Allen Coe's "Would You Lay With Me (In a Field of Stone)?"
is similarly junked up, comparably catchy. She was jailbait when
she hit with those two, which was part of the allure, or at least
part of the bait. She was more like 19 when she started to get
some cleaner production; by the time she hit 21 the hits started
to thin out -- the first disc skips from 1980 to 1987 in its last
seven cuts (saving 1986's "One Love at a Time" to start disc 2).
Disc 2 takes her from age 28 up to, well, almost 40. She sounds
a lot older there; lot slower, too. Very few of these songs make
much of an impression on me -- "Hangin' In" (1994) is one that
I did notice, and its follow-up "You Just Watch Me" isn't bad,
either. Tucker's vocal skills are undoubted; her material isn't
always up to snuff, and her producers are dangerous -- the net
effect is that she's never quite managed to build a convincing
persona. Useful booklet. Useful package. Good for reference.
Nice to know that she never got really lousy, which in Nashville
is something of an accomplishment. B

I started writing something about how I wish I knew how many records
the various record critics participating in year-end polls actually
had listened to. Thought I would explore this by building a table of
top 40 Pazz & Jop finishes since 1979, and checking off which
records I haven't heard. (Of course, in many cases I had some inkling
that I wouldn't want to hear -- at least at the cost of buying --
said records.) This is what I came up with. [PS 2004-02-23: thought
I'd add in the 2003 results here, just to keep them together. Although
2003 is the highest total ever, I expect it to drop into a more normal
range soon.]

Actually, going through these lists led me to add a few grades on
records that I did have/listen to back in LP days, but don't have
any more. Obviously, these are based on loose and not especially
reliable memories. Meanwhile, I'm looking back into my old lists
for albums that I didn't bring forward when I created the current
list system. This list is here.

Music: Initial count 8785 rated (+11), 933 unrated (+17). Year-end
lists and
comments done. The incraese in
unrated mostly comes from a shopping trip to Oklahoma City. I used
to go down there 3-4 times a year, and make the rounds of five
Wherehouse stores. I hadn't been there in more than a year -- not
since Wherehouse closed their Wichita stores -- but they're down
to three stores now, and one was in the process of a closeout sale.
Also finished writing my first column for Michaelangelo Matos at
Seattle Weekly. I'll be doing a reissues column, called
"Rearview Mirror," every three weeks there. From a practical
standpoint it will be a subset of what I've been doing for Static,
but it will probably spotlight new things first.

GG Allin: The Troubled Troubadour + Bonus Tracks
(1982-90 [1996], Mountain). Starts with six songs -- "When I Die"
and "Rowdy Beer Drinkin' Night" sound ok even though they're meant
to be garbage. The other four, I guess, do a better job of realizing
their ambitions. Then comes "Conversation #1," which seems to be an
interview recorded while Allin was in jail. Aside from a cover of
"Dead Flowers," the rest of the album is taken up with conversations
and spoken word shit, which leaves this feeling pretty slight.
C

Blues Story (1920-84 [2003], Shout! Factory, 2CD). The
dates I've figured out by selective research. Mamie Smith's "Crazy Blues"
is well known as the first blues record (1920), so that one was easy.
The last one was harder to figure -- as I recall, it was Little Milton's
"You're gonna Have a Murder on Your Hands." "Crazy Blues" is one of those
songs you read about but never hear. Turns out that a good part of the
reason is that it isn't all that great, but it makes a good anchor here,
especially with Blind Lemon Jefferson coming next. A-

Gotta Serve Somebody: The Gospel Songs of Bob Dylan
(2003, Columbia). I suppose this was inevitable, which doesn't mean
that it's a good idea. First time through I note three performances
I wouldn't mind hearing again: Shirley Caesar's "Gotta Serve Somebody"
(the only Dylan song I recognize here, done straight gospel, which is
less humbling than when Dylan sings it); Aaron Neville's "Saving Grace"
(Neville's voice wins it over); and Dylan and Mavis Staples doing "Gonna
Change My Way of Thinking" (at last a voice that fits the songs, plus
some hard rocking). On the other hand, Chicago Mass Choir, Mighty
Clouds of Joy, and Rance Allen are all dismissed. Dylan's God years
were like Jesus off in the wilderness, being tempted again and again
to put out bad music for dubious purposes. I ignored him then, and
eventually he came back to his talents, if not necessarily to his
senses. Ignore this one too. C+

Handsome Family: Live at Schuba's Tavern (2000 [2002],
DCN). I've always found Brett Sparks' deep, affectless voice barren,
which has been an obstacle getting into his barren songs. This live
souvenir of their last days in Chicago is lightened by wife Rennie's
interjections and monologues, but it is ultimately Brett's voice, as
resonant and more surprising then ever, that puts these barren songs
across. A-

Gaby Kerpel: Carnabailito (2003, Nonesuch). Seems to
be Argentina's answer to Tom Zé, but where Zé is an urban modernist,
Kerpel looks toward the dry side of the Andes, at least for cover
inspiration. Built from samples, including voices that come off as
unmusical, the rhythms come and go, and when they go there isn't
much left to hang on to. In this year's globetrotting efforts, this
is the record I find the most alien. Interesting, too. Perhaps some
day I'll find a context that it makes sense in, but for now it's just
one of many oddities in a not-infinite but pretty damn big universe.
B+

B.B. King: Blues Kingpins (1951-62 [2003], Virgin/The
Right Stuff). King recorded for various labels run by the Bihari Brothers,
including RPM, Modern, and Kent. This overlaps various Flair best-ofs,
such as Do the Boogie (1952-56 [1988]) and The Best of B.B.
King, Volume One ([1986]). Only 7 of these 18 songs have escaped
both of those anthologies. A

B.B. King: King of the Blues (1943-91 [1992], MCA,
4CD). This box has been sitting around for quite a while, King being
a guy I recognize as important but don't have much real affinity for.
But as I found myself warming to Blues Kingpins, I figured I
could benefit from putting him into context, and this box should do
for that. The intersection is thin: the first disc of the box goes
from 1949-66, starting with a 1949 single on Bullet, followed by 5
songs on RPM, 2 on Kent, 1 on Chess, the rest on ABC and Bluesway.
The 7 RPM/Kent songs are candidates for Blues Kingpins, and
5 of them are present. This early stretch is very solid work. More
dubious is the ABC period, which starts with "I'm Gonna Sit In 'Til
You Give In," sounding just like a Ray Charles outtake. It gets more
typical after that. The second CD, 1966-69, contains material that
was originally released on Bluesway. This is the period when rock
'n' rollers discovered their blues heritage (as opposed to the early
'60s, when folkies launched the search for old legends like John
Hurt and Skip James); which makes it the period when white America
discovered King. Third disc covers 1969-75, mostly ABC plus two
Bluesway cuts. A couple of all-time best-of songs here: "Nobody
Loves Me But My Mother" ("and she may be jivin' too"), "I Got Some
Help I Don't Need." Fourth disc covers 1976-91, mostly on MCA.
Starts with a live cut with Bobby Bland, and goes back live several
more times. Nothing much special on this one, but you have to credit
the dirty old bastard for "Mother Fuyer" -- haven't heard that one
in a while. All in all, I don't think this box is all that useful.
He's a major artist as much by virtue of his longevity as anything
else, but he has some high spots like Live at the Regal,
and I'm growing fond of his '50s work. This does add a few things
to those, but I figure there's at least a much missing. B+

Augustus Pablo: East of the River Nile (1977 [2002],
Shanachie). A mere instrumental album, except that it feels so uncommonly
right -- not a groove album, but an album full of easy momentum any way.
Bound to reggae by the most inscrutable of beats, bound to Ras Tafari
by title only. The river is the signifier here -- its movement as certain
as gravity. A

Bonnie Rideout: Soft May Morn (1994, Maggie's Music).
An American -- born in Michigan, grew up in Maine -- who plays Scottish
fiddle. Touted on the back cover here as a three-time U.S. National
Scottish Fiddle Champion. This has a little extra piano and guitar,
but is very much her show. In general, this is one of my least favorite
musics, but I was totally charmed by her other 1994 album, Celtic
Circles (Maggie's Music), and this is much more of the same thing.
The slow pieces are more eloquent than the jigs, and the time shifts
detract from that. At its best, this is striking beautiful, but over
the long haul it feels long -- 55:13 is the official time, which isn't
obviously excessive (by current standards). B

Kate Smith: 16 Most Requested Songs (1940-45 [1991],
Columbia/Legacy). Discographic information is sparse here, but this
appears to be a fairly narrow slice from a career that started by
1931 and pretty much ended around 1954, although she lived until
1986. Sounds like proficient period pop: anonymous orchestras, which
at least have the decency to keep out of the way; skilled singer,
with good voice and not a lot of flair or personality; familiar
songs, some great in other contexts, but good here. Can't hate it.
Can't say that it's held up real well either. B-

Todd Snider: Live: Near Truths and Hotel Rooms (Oh Boy).
He's settled into John Prine's record label, and the affinity is more than
business. Snider fills Prine's shoes about as well as Don White fills in
for Loudon Wainwright III. One thing all four have in common is that they
open up agreeably in a live context (admittedly, I haven't heard Prine live
on record that proves the point, but I've heard Prine live, which is close
enough). Most likely this reaps the best songs from 4-5 albums -- none of
which I've heard, so they're all fresh here. So are the monologues --
funny too. A-

Music: Initial count 8774 rated (+25), 916 unrated (-5). Still working
on year-end comments, although I've about given up thinking that any
of my "pending" new 2003 records are going to make the year-end list
any time soon. Still, the big push forward in ratings is because I've
skipped comments on most of the records, and I may continue that policy,
at least for another week.

The Beatles: 1 (1962-70 [2000], Capitol). 27 songs, from
"Love Me Do" to "The Long and Winding Road." You know them all. They're
all great. (Well, almost all: a more judicious ending would have been "Let
It Be.") Of course, they evolved, so this loses the staged coherency of
the individual albums -- not to mention scads of equally great songs --
and the retracing of their career in inevitable chronological order lends
them a predictable arc that they didn't have when they originally cut these
songs. It also compresses their career in a somewhat unseemly way -- as if
to say is this all there is? (Of course not, as evinced by the single-less
Sgt. Pepper.) Still, the opening stretch -- ten high profile songs
concluding with "Help!" -- would be hard to improve on. And the stretch
from #15 "Yellow Submarine" to the end is probably better than the albums
they came from (or were dumped into). The similar Elvis record has the
virtue of unifying a career commonly regarded as split between young and
fat periods; but the Beatles don't unify -- they unravel, which is obvious
in the last ten or so songs here, which nowadays are more interesting as
history than as music. Of course, we always knew that -- or at least knew
it from the point where they broke up, denial being what it is. So what
does this collection add? Not much. I know someone who wanted to buy this
to clue her son in on just what the Beatles were. Fair enough, but not as
good a choice as three or four albums would have been. A-

Jeff Beck & the Yardbirds: The Yardbird Years
(1965-66 [2002], Fuel 2000). The follow-up to Fuel 2000's Eric
Clapton and the Yardbirds: The Yardbird Years, it suffers the
same flawed logic of thinking that just because you have legendary
guitarists, you get legendary guitar records. But the Yardbirds were
just another British Invasion rock band with an eye to the singles
charts, like all the others. The blues purism that Clapton aspired
to had squat to do with their sound, and the successive waves of
Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page never made much difference. What makes this
record better than its predecessor is that it gets further into their
hits -- then as now, there's no substitute for good songs. But it
doesn't get much better, because this comp (like its predecessor)
is packed with trivia -- outtakes, instrumental versions, even a
German single. B+

The Essential Bing Crosby: The Columbia Years
(1931-34 [2003], Columbia/Legacy). Those Columbia years were relatively
early -- Bing celebrated his 30th birthday toward the end of the stretch.
Before them he made his initial mark with Paul Whiteman's orchestra, and
here he's still working on the pop-jazz seam. This starts with a take
on "Dinah" joined by the Mills Brothers; that would be about the same
time "Dinah" was making the rounds of NYC jazz bands (Henry Allen, Don
Redman, Luis Russell). "Sweet Georgia Brown" also falls on the jazz
side. Even Crosby's more characteristic crooner ballads were usually
accompanied by Eddie Lang, the finest jazz guitarist this side of
Django Reinhardt. His "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?" falls for the
melodrama of the song -- it did, after all, come from a stage musical.
"Young and Healthy" is a marvelous song, even with Guy Lombardo for
backup. "My Honey's Lovin' Arms" brings back the Mills Brothers. The
last 4-5 songs (the one I really noticed was "Temptation") fall hard
into his matinee idol mainstream. I suspect that it's going to be a
long time before I ever get much of a feel for his music -- it is,
after all, very dated, even though the memory of the person and his
movies is still fresh and warm. B

Fats Domino: Blues Kingpins (1949-55 [2003], Capitol/The
Right Stuff). Domino's great hits have been packaged several times. The
one I have is called My Blue Heaven: The Best of Fats Domino, Volume
1 (1949-61 [1990], EMI), which was basically a reissue of the old
2-LP Legendary Masters, reissued to tie into a movie. EMI's more
recent Fats Domino Jukebox is pretty much the same thing. Fact
is, anyway you slice it you wind up with basically the same hit songs,
and going beyond that -- as in EMI's 1991 4-CD box, They Call Me the
Fat Man -- just gives you a lot of surplus that isn't up to snuff.
The other fact is that, aside from "The Fat Man" (1949), Domino's real
hits start up around 1955-56, when he cut "Ain't It a Shame," "My
Blue Heaven," "Blueberry Hill," "Blue Monday," "When My Dreamboat
Comes Home," etc. Play this enough and you do find hints of the hits
to come, but it is striking how little the compilers concede: in their
efforts to recast Domino as a bluesman, they eschew hits like "The Fat
Man," and lay on saxophone bits -- all of this was produced by Dave
Bartholomew, a trumpet player in his own right -- but starting about
two-thirds of the way through ("Going to the River") Fats starts to
come through -- the key to his success being that he finally learned
to take it easy. Given how recognizable his later piano work became,
it's surprising how indistinct his early work was -- Champion Jack
Dupree and Professor Longhair were already on the New Orleans piano
circuit then, and guys like Amos Milburn and Floyd Dixon were near
their peak. Still, there are hints of future greatness here. B

Elmore James: Blues Kingpins (1952-55 [2003],
Virgin/The Right Stuff). Early material, this intersects heavily
(12 of 18 cuts) with the old Virgin/Flair comp, Let's Cut It.
This has three cuts in common with Rhino's definitive The Sky Is
Crying, missing "Sho' Nuff I Do" from the latter's Flair singles.
James' peak came later, with his recordings for Chief, Fire, and
Enjoy -- the latter have now been compiled in 1-, 2-, and 3-CD
packages, with little falloff. The most impressive thing about
James' early work is how directly it channels delta blues into
the era of the electric guitar. A-

Waylon Jennings: Honky Tonk Heroes (1973 [1999],
Buddha/BMG Heritage). Widely regarded as a major album in Jennings'
discography, perhaps the key one, the first thing worth noting is
that 9 of the 10 songs were written by Billy Joe Shaver. The second
thing to note is that the other one sucks. The two bonus songs on
this reissue are also Shaver-penned, which helps get us past "We
Had It All." Personally, I think Shaver sings his own songs just
fine -- all Waylon has to add is gravitas and melodrama, or is that
gravity and mush? Not a big problem in this particular case, but
not a big credit either. B

Don McLean: American Pie (1971 [2003], Capitol).
After the well-worn title hit, the next 5-6 songs are pretty ballads.
"Everybody Loves Me, Baby" is uptempo, recycling some of the same
effects deployed in the title cut, less seriousness (or superciliousness,
as the case may be). Nothing really bad until we get to "The Grave" --
a really hideous war dirge. But then he pulls out the harpsichord for
"Babylon," and starts arranging chorales. Two bonus cuts, only a bit
better than the two former closers. C+

Nico, Kwamy, Rochereau et l'African Fiesta (1960-62
[1992], Sonodisc). Don't know much about this particular compilation.
The booklet is four pages, with a piece of hand-written French in the
middle spread, and no print at all on the back. One web source lists
this title with the dates and note "Merveilles Du Passé 1960-1961-1962
(Mujos, Simaro Ét Kwamy)" after it. This actually sounds slightly
simpler/older than the Nico/Rochereau/Roger record, despite the latter's
"Volume 1" designation. Very similar work. I give this one a small edge,
both for tunefulness and a bit more guitar. A-

Bubba Sparxxx: Deliverance (2003, Beatclub/Interscope).
White southern rapper, but with Timbaland producing that doesn't seem
to count for much. I count three, maybe four, terrific songs here --
none sounding anything like I expected, least of all the fastbeat finale,
"Back in the Mud." I find myself liking it quite a bit, even though I'm
not real certain just what it is -- other than first-rate Timbaland,
that is. B+

Randy Travis: Rise and Shine (2002, Warner Brothers).
Another great artist off on a Jesus kick. I figure I can handle almost
anything, but his "we're living in the end of times" schtick, worked
out in one called "Jerusalem's Cry," is way beyond the pale for me.
You know, it just isn't irony these days when Christians pray for
Apocalypse. After this atrocity, the next song starts out with nice,
evolving into a fishing analogy, "Keep Your Lure in the Water." The
two songs aren't juxtaposed -- they're antitheses. Most of the songs
here are decent country arrangements -- most original, nothing from
the gospel tradition. But the soaring ponderousness of "The Gift" is
another major turnoff. And the closing "Valley of Pain" strikes me
as sheer masochism. Somebody needs to save this guy. C

They sure didn't have to look very hard to find those. In the same
article, Louis Menand wrote a facetious but not stupid piece on
year-end top-ten lists. I'll quote a bit of it:

The first response to the appearance of the ten-best lists is simple
gratitude. It is good to know that someone has been paying
attention. Once upon a time, you had at least heard the names of
pretty much all the albums and movies that came out. Today, a visit to
Tower Records or the Virgin Megastore is an invitation to
vertigo. It's not just that you don't recognize ninety per cent of the
stuff for sale. You don't even recognize the categories. . . . You
need, you realize, a list, and in exactly the same way that a
drowning sailor needs a life preserver. The people who make these
annual lists, the daily or weekly reviewers, have crossed the great
sea of packaged amusement, pathos, and distraction for us, and they
have emerged, clutching in their hands, just ten plastic jewel
cases. Here, they say; these are the best. We can
imagine the nausea and entertainment fatigue they must have suffered
during their twelve-month ordeal. We admire their grit and their
pluck, and we salute them.

I'd like to say thanks, but I'm not sure. Not least of all because
my year-end list has now reached the 95 mark. And while I'm sure I
don't intend to be esoteric, I have to admit that my #1 record is
by a white rapper from Nova Scotia whose album isn't available in
the US, and that my #2 album is by an avant-garde jazz bassist. My
out-of-print for 25 years. And my #6 is a reissue of even older work
by a Nigerian bandleader. The rest of the top ten, with one exception,
is only marginally better known. But the fact is that I doubt that 85%
of the adults in America have heard of my token smash hit either: test
yourself now, who is Kelis?

Voted in Pazz & Jop poll today. Working on comments. One thing I did
was to construct a list of pre-2002 records that I reviewed in the notebook
this past year and graded A- or above. The idea was to do some research
into what sort of things I've found belatedly. But on further thought, I
decided that the A- list wasn't interesting enough for the comments, so
I restricted the list to A and A+ records. But I had put enough work into
it that I figured I should save the A- list somewhere. So here it is, in
alphabetical (not rank) order:

Nat Adderley: Little Big Horn (1963, Riverside OJC)

African Salsa (1993-97 [1999], Stern's/Earthworks)

The Howard Alden Trio: Your Story -- The Music of Bill Evans (1994, Concord)

Music: Initial count 8749 rated (+19), 921 unrated (-9). Frantically
trying to close out my year-end list (Pazz & Jop ballot due Jan.
5; year-end work for Static due any day now). So I've started to list
some records with just grades, especially things that I intend to get
back to soon and write about then. (This usually happens when I play
something but I'm busy trying to write about something else.)

Gato Barbieri: Bolivia (1971-73 [2003], Bluebird).
Actually, a twofer, combining 1973's Bolivia with 1971's Under
Fire, both originally on Flying Dutchman. The spine lists this as
Bolivia and Under Fire, but the remaining artwork is based on
the original album cover for Bolivia (the original Under
Fire appears on the back of the booklet). The front cover also
includes the credit "with Lonnie Liston Smith."
A-

The Jaki Byard Quartet With Joe Farrell: The Last From
Lennie's (1965 [2003], Prestige).
A-

Robert Cray: Time Will Tell (2003, Sanctuary). I don't
like him; never have, don't expect I ever will. But the lead song here,
"Survivor" tempts and escapes cliché -- "you take a little schoolboy and
teach him who to hate/then you send him to the desert for the oil new
Kuwait." Next song brings in the Turtle Island String Quartet, which
isn't the only thing wrong with it musically -- MOR or AOR or some other
crap genre I never listen to. "Back Door Slam" is a blues -- a pretty
awful one. "What You Need" asserts that you need a good man, which
disqualifies its protagonist. With "Spare Some Love?" he goes begging,
but it strikes me as one of his few likable songs. "Distant Shore" has
some decent guitar and organ. The closer, "Time Makes Two," is slow and
patient and not utterly full of shit. With two good songs, 2-3 decent
ones, not much completely awful, this may be his best record (at least
of those I've heard) since Bad Influence. B-

Kimya Dawson: My Cute Fiend Sweet Princess (2003,
Important).
A-

Kimya Dawson: Knock-Knock Who? (2003, Important).
By contrast, it feels like you have to listen to this one through a
stethoscope. The music that barely exists in the other release is
downright torpid here. The lyrics don't pounce on you either, but
every now and then you get something like "the means justify the ends
in the end." Toward the end the kiddie choirs start to pile on, too,
and there's at least one unlistenable cut. B

Duke Ellington's Far East Suite (1966 [2003],
Bluebird). I need to check this out against the 1966 reissue, called
The Far East Suite: Special Mix. The latter I've long regarded
as the most perfect of all Ellington records. This one has been
stuffed to the gills (77:37 total length) with bonus tracks, which
present a slight flow problem that I don't remember on Special
Mix. (OK, there are slight time differences in the album tracks,
which are otherwise in the same order. Special Mix added four
bonus tracks: alternate takes of "Tourist Point of View," "Bluebird
of Delhi," "Isfahan," and "Amad," reprising the first three pieces
from the album, then the next to the last -- "Ad Lib on Nippon" runs
11:34, so the second "Amad" starts up 23+ minutes after the first
ends. The new edition has seven bonus tracks, including two takes
back-to-back of "Bluebird of Delhi"; "Amad" also appears second in
the bonus tracks, so there is less time between initial and second
appearances of pieces. Five of the seven bonus tracks are previously
unissued; the other two are probably reprised from Special MixA+

Missy Elliott: This Is Not a Test (Gold Mind/Elektra).
Just got this, and I'm rushing it to slide it into the year-end list.
Don't know how far it will rise, but it's already distinguished itself
above last year's Under Construction. Dense. Complex. Lots of
shit to sort out. Conservatively: A-

50 Cent: Get Rich or Die Tryin' (2003,
Shady/Aftermath/Interscope). It's got that Dr. Dre sound -- it's as
hard to quibble over his production as it is easy to snipe at his
lyrics, which 50 Cent has no problem topping. Not that he aims high --
the closest thing to an aspiration here, aside from getting rich, is
"High All the Time." It's hard to take his thuggery seriously, since
the only thing here that whips up a scare is the one where the white
guy takes the mike. I hear this is the biggest selling record of the
year. What I don't hear are hits, which suggests that this sold on
hype. That might be worth exploring. But I don't hear anything here
that moves beyond competent. B

Merle Haggard: Like Never Before (2003, Hag). This is
as short and slight as his old Capitol albums -- typical Nashville back
then, with a couple of indelible classics and some quick filler. But
filler like "Garbage Man" and "Philadelphia Lawyer" (joined by Willie
Nelson) is timeless. The cut mangled for the title is a perfectly good
tired-of-the-road song. "That's the News" isn't much more than most
folks get off the TV, and its you won't have much trouble dating its
war-is-over theme. "Yellow Ribbons" is his war-is-not-over song, and
it's a silly one -- not that we ever went to Haggard for political
analysis, but the key phrase there is "doing what we dare." The
broken love songs are of a piece with his whole career, and if he
seems too old for that sort of thing, you haven't heard him sing
lately. Not as solid as If I Could Only Fly, but it doesn't
miss by much. A-

Andrew Hill: Passing Ships (1969 [2003], Blue Note).
This was roughly the end of the line for Hill at Blue Note, and has set
in the vault until now. It is a large group -- nine pieces, with five
brass instruments, Joe Farrell on various reeds, Ron Carter on bass,
and Lenny White on drums. As such, it prefigures Hill's more recent,
highly regarded (although not necessarily by me) large group records
on Palmetto. I like it a good deal better than the recent records: it
strikes me as much more cleanly organized, with superb arrangements
for the two trumpets (Woody Shaw and Dizzy Reece), and excellent work
by Farrell. It also gives Hill's piano more of a roll, and Hill is
always worth listening to.
A-

Ndala Kasheba: Yellow Card (2002, Limitless Sky).
A-

Kid Koala: Some of My Best Friends are DJ's (2003,
Ninja Tune).
A-

Ludacris: Chicken-N-Beer (2003, Def Jam South). Another
snap year-end judgment, but after playing this while driving around town
today, I'm hooked. "Blow It Out" is great. "Stand Up" is great. The "Rob
Quarters Skit" is the second best skit I've heard all year (untoppable
is Lyrics Born's telephone operator). "Splash Waterfalls," where the
chick answers every line with "make love to me" alternating with the
more emphatic "fuck me," is best of all. That's as far as it wrapped
around today, so I'm not totally clear on "Screwed Up" or "P-Poppin'"
or all the gunplay toward the end, and I don't have all the Bill O'Reilly
ripostes worked out. Nothing fancy here, but a dozen times or more I'm
impressed by the rhymes, and the music is over the top.
A-

Thelonious Monk: Monk in Paris: Live at the Olympia (1965
[2003], Hyena).
A-

Murs: . . . The End of the Beginning (Definitive Jux).
A-

Mutant Disco: A Subtle Dislocation of the Norm (1978-82
[2003], ZE, 2CD). Back around 1975 disco had crossed over from black dance
music to the Bee Gees, and the Trouser Press rockers -- the ones who
were waiting for punk and new wave to happen -- hated disco. By 1985 disco
and new wave were over as pop music, but underground, in the dancehalls,
they were hard to distinguish, eventually merging in bands like New Order.
In between strange things happened, like August Darnell dropping the names
of new wave clubs on the debut album of his latino-retro-disco band, Kid
Creole & the Coconuts. Darnell recorded for Michael Zilkha's ZE Records,
along with no wavers like James Chance (dba James White & the Blacks),
studio freaks like the Was Brothers, and disco divas like Lizzy Mercier
Descloux. This compilation keeps the dance beat steady, even through the
demented "Contort Yourself." It is long on obscure one-shots, limiting Kid
Creole to two cuts, while lavishing three (including Ringo's "Drive My Car")
by the deliciously tacky Cristina. Which makes it a useful resource while
we wait for the classic Kid Creole records to finally make their way back
into print. And goes to show that the most interesting mutations are to
the gene that codes for humor. A-

The Neptunes Present . . . Clones (2003, Star Trak).
The most obvious problem with this compilation is that it turns their pet
tricks into the common denominator. Some great cuts. Most good. A couple
are crap. Closes strong, with Clipse, N.O.R.E., Dirt McGirt, and Kelis.
B+

Best of Koffi Olomide ([2002], Next Music, 2CD). Not
the easiest record to figure out, even if the booklet notes weren't in
French, even if the French weren't printed in microscopic type on top
of an image that renders them even more unreadable. Olomide is from
Zaire (oops, Congo), previously associated with Papa Wemba. The first
disc, presumably the "best of," is delightful -- I find I like it best
when he slows down. The second disc are remixes, more typical soukous,
which is fun, too. A-

Nicholas Payton: Sonic Trance (2003, Warner Bros.).
This starts out odd and fragmented, and take a while (and a few bumps
in the road) before it hits its stride, at which point Payton'su
jazztronica groove sounds pretty good. It doesn't quite keep it up
either. And I was hoping to hear more from Tim Warfield, who I take
to be one of the best saxophonists working today. I haven't dissected
it, but after close to a dozen plays it's settled into its niche.
B+

Bud Powell: The Amazing Bud Powell: The Scene Changes
(1958 [2003], Blue Note). The word "amazing" is overused on Powell --
Art Tatum, who really was amazing, reckoned he could cut Powell with one
hand, and Powell had to get really wasted to think otherwise; but what
really distinguished Powell was how logically he developed his lines,
and that has rarely been more clear than on the all-originals trio
session, cut shortly before he moved to Paris. A-

Steinski's Burning Out of Control: The Sugarhill Mix
(1972-2003, Antidote). The way I figure it, Sugarhill Records set me
back 5-10 years in getting around to rap. I never dug the human beatbox
shit, hated "Rapper's Delight," hated the early compilations, never
even had a kind word to say about Grandmaster Flash until the Rhino
comps came out. So this does nothing for me nostalgia-wise, other
than to remind me that it was the beats that finally broke down my
resistance. Not even necessarily these beats, which strike me as
overly square. But they do slam hard. My patience wears thin here
too, but Steinski is a genius at stringing these beat-heavy pieces
together, and the ongoing commentary and miscellaneous mixing keeps
me coming back. A-

Assif Tsahar, Mat Maneri, Jim Black: Jam (2003,
Hopscotch). By far the most difficult and least rewarding of this crop
of four records from Tsahar's Hopscotch label: regardless of whatever
cleverness may be afoot, it moves so slowly, with patches so hard to
hear, that it rarely sounds more artful than a squeaky door fluttering
in the wind. I tend to blame these things on Maneri -- they do seem to
happen to him much too frequently -- but I also have to wonder about
Black. I mean, what's the point of having a drummer if you can't hear
any drumming? Played it again, and turned it up for good measure.
Some interesting details, but you got to give it a lot of patience.
B-

Here's the lede from a Knight Ridder article by Alison Young, which showed
up on the front page of The Wichita Eagle today:

Since mad cow disease was discovered in the United States last week,
more than a million Americans were sickened by food they ate. About
6,000 became so ill they were hospitalized and nearly 100 died,
according to federal health estimates.

But mad cow disease wasn't the culprit. Indeed, not a single American
is known to have contracted the human form of the disease from eating
food in this country.

Instead, salmonella, E. coli, listeria and other dangerous bacteria
routinely take a huge toll on public health, yet get little of the
attention that's now focused on the beef from one Washington state
Holstein found infected with mad cow disease, also known as bovine
spongiform encephalopathy.

The rest of the article describes these threats further, but doesn't
mention that one of the first things the Bush regime did was to cancel
stricter regulations on listeria. Young explains the risk: "Listeria
monocytogenes, a cold-loving bacteria found in ready-to-eat lunchmeats
and hot dogs, causes about 2,500 illnesses a year, and most of those
people are so ill they are hospitalized. About 500 will die, the CDC
estimates." For more details on all that, see the Molly Ivins/Lou
Dubose book, Bushwhacked.

It's worth remembering that the regulation-less "gilded age" ended
over just this sort of food safety issue. The Bushies may damn well
find that their dream of unrolling a century's worth of regulation
will falter not on some achilles heel but on a queasy stomach.

More generally, both mad cow disease (which is an economic, if not
a public health, disaster) and these other food-borne illnesses
just go to show how misguided the War on Terror is. The US has
suffered half-a-dozen catastrophes since 9/11/2001, none of which
(well, excepting the Bush-committed wars in Afghanistan and Iraq)
have had anything to do with terrorism. In fact, the regime is at
pains to point out that mad cow, the blackout, the California
fires, the SARS epidemic, etc., were not works of terrorism.
What they were are risks of modern life that we depend heavily
on government to respond to. But Bush's priorities are completely
wrong -- consider, for instance, all that smallpox vaccine that
wasn't needed and nobody wanted and would probably have been a
lot more dangerous if anyone had taken it, compared to this year's
flu vaccine fiasco.

And it's not just the catastrophes that they can't handle. The
everyday stuff, which we don't notice because it isn't hysterical
news, adds up too.